To Know True Fear
by russianwinter013
Summary: Fear...a palpable thing. Black icy tendrils of spark-gripping madness. How tasteless it could be, yet so filling. Oh, how it was a desire, an unhealthy addiction. And there was no hope for a cure.
1. Bloody & Black

**My story for the Transformers Halloween Contest, hosted by Alice Gone Madd!**

**Title: _To Know True Fear_**

**Genre: Horror/Suspense**

**Rating: T in general, M for gore and pure unadulterated insanity. :)**

**Universe: Prime AU, with some G1 characters and my OCs thrown in. AU is mine.**

**Warning(s): Violence, gore, death. Intense madness.**

**NOT for the easily nauseated! **

**Enjoy! :)**

* * *

The target was in range. Oh so close..he could nearly taste it. A slight grin turned his mouthplates, exposing flashing white dentia. His visor flashed, claws and daggers unsheathed. Oh, he would never see him coming...

The mech he was stalking slowed his pace, large doorwings twitching as if he sensed the offlined signal of his persecutor.

He froze, ventilation mechanisms halted. Fierce claws and daggers were unsheathed, and the crystal visor flashed. No, he could not be caught...this prey was too valuable...yes, it would be so satisfying to taste that prey, to tear him apart and savor his screams of desired agony and futile attempts to cry for help and mercy like the miserable, _pathetic pit-bound **wretch** it was..._

He watched as his quarry continued on. His frame was shaking in anticipation...oh, how he could not _wait_ until he captured him...yes...

His intakes were taunted by the scent...the scent of Energon...hot, sweet, delicious Energon...oh, yes, how he longed -no, _yearned-_ for it. A laugh escaped him, a sound full of pure sadistic intent and desire. His steps quickened; he was agile and silent on his pedes...no, the prey should not...should not, could not, _**would**_ not..be able to find him.

Oh, just look at him now. _All innocent and noble and kind..._

_...and **cold** and **cruel** and **guilty** and **murderous...**_

_...never wanting any harm to come to others..._

_...wanting to **tear** into his enemies with the manic cloud of **hunger** and **want** cloaking him..._

**_YES..._**

The laugh was even louder now. His prey could hear him, of that he was sure, now. Those pretty blue optics darting around...ha. As if he would be able to see him.

_"Jazz, there's something you should see._" The low, irritated tone of the feared swordsmech known as Wheeljack sounded on his comm.

"What is it?" the saboteur demanded, dentia bared as the object of his sights vanished around a corner.

A disappointed vent escaped him.

No snack tonight...

The rasping tone of the insane swordsmech tore into his thoughts.

_"Prowl's back."_

Those few words alone snapped him out of the black, murderous mood he had been in.

Jazz decided he had never moved so quickly in his life.

... ... ...

Wheeljack's corrupted signal was not far from his position. When he arrived, tires squealing and brakes hissing as he transformed quick enough to give any normal mech a few twisted limbs, he nearly collided with a mass of mechs and femmes. He was at Iacon's entrance gate, where they were gathered. Apparently, judging on the murmured words his enhanced auditory receptors picked up, Prowl had shown up after quartexes of unexcused absence, in which he had been assumed termiated or captured, horribly injured and barely conscious. He had only managed to get one word out before going into critical stasis:

_Jazz._

Ironhide was currently standing almost protectively over his comrade Ratchet, who was muttering beneath his ventilations as he worked on the damaged SIC. There were mechs and femmes crowded around the entrance to Iacon, all murmuring and shouting and as confused as a sparkling lost in a city. Everybot had assumed Prowl had either been captured or terminated. For him to show up now...

One could understand the absolute frustration that overwhelmed the Polyhexian when he struggled to see through the crowd, to catch the slightest glimpse of the familiar pair of black, red, and white doorwings, the warm golden optics, or even the lean, extremely tall Praxian frame.

But what terrified him, rather than lift up his spirits, was the large pool of dark blue and silver Energon flooding the ground, one that was rapidly growing and seeping through the unsuspecting crowd, nearly touching his pedes...and he was in the back...

He was barely aware he was moving as he approached Ratchet, who was steadying the unconscious frame of their SIC. Ironhide's massive frame did nothing to improve his futile attempts. Finally he gave up, deciding for the easy approach.

"Prowler!"

"You can stop right there!" Ratchet rose, dark optics blazing as Ironhide gently switched places with him to be Prowl's crutch. "There is no reason for you to be here! Who contacted you?"

"I did," a low, crooning voice hissed as a tall, lanky frame materialized out of the inky shadows. Bright green optics blazed with an insane light as long and sharp dentia were exposed in an unnerving grin; refined black armor flared as huge menacing claws flexed, connected to long and thin digits. "Thought he would like to know. Prowl **_is_ **his bondmate, after all."

"We are **_not_ **bondmates, Wheeljack!" Jazz growled, armor flaring from his powerful streamlined frame. His lip curled into a snarl as he faced the storm-grey medic. "What happened and why can't Ah see 'im?"

Ratchet bared his own dentia, dark armor set in a threatening flare. "Prime's orders. We are to stop you from seeing Prowl for the moment."

"Might Ah ask why?"

"No, you may not," the medic shot back. "He is in a condition that is worse for the wear."

"Ya can't restrict meh from seein' mah partner," Jazz growled, optics narrowing.

"I don't care if you are third-in-command, Jazz; as a medic, I _can." _Ratchet stood towering over the Polyhexian. "Your presence will only be a distraction. Rumors will be spread, and I know you do not want them...unless you are in a relationship with our SIC?"

Jazz snarled, visor blazing. "If ya so much as ask meh tha' again..." His frame swayed suddenly, core temperature falling dramatically as his equilibrium decided to readjust itself to unnecessary capacities.

Ratchet growled in return, his iron grasp immediately steadying the saboteur. Opening a private, triple-encrypted comm., he hissed at the smaller mech. _/You were in the middle of a hunt?/_

_/Isn't it obvious?/_ Jazz shoved the other away, baring razor dentia at anyone who stared at his trembling frame. _/Ah can't stand it, Ratch. They all smell so good...ya smell so good.../_

_/Enough of that./_ The medic signaled Wheeljack. _/You are not going to snap. Prime will blow a massive fuse if you do, and we both know no one wants that./ _His dark optics pierced the saboteur.

The towering mech slunk through the crowd over to them. "Yes?"

Ratchet ignored the insanity clear in the swordsmech's intense burning gaze. "Jazz needs immediate refuel. You know what to do."

Wheeljack hissed in agreement, beginning to drag the Polyhexian away, before he broke free.

"No! Ah need ta see Prowler!"

Ratchet growled, stepping in the route of the disoriented, ravenous soldier. "No."

"Get outta mah way, Ratchet." The Polyhexian snarled, armor flared. "Ah need ta see 'im."

"You do not _need_ anything. You only _want,"_ the medic countered, sharp dentia bared.

With a vicious growl, Jazz ducked past the taller mech and towards the injured Praxian, uncaring of the lifeblood soaking his pedes. Horror crept its slimy way into his spark as he took in the scene.

Prowl lay in the rapidly increasing puddle of his own blood. The sight was horrible.

Blood was everywhere. His pedes were twisted, enough to show the shattered infrastructure and crooked armor that had been pushed inward. The armor on his lower legs was coated in rust and something that looked like green slime. Pieces of his upper torso armor were broken and shredded, coated in drying Energon even as the wounds beneath them continued to bleed. The Praxian's arms were the only thing left intact, despite the peeled metal that looked better off destroyed than fixed. But the main thing that horrified Jazz was the mech's doorwings.

The once beautful, refined armor was completely gone, not even the slightest bit of it covering the skeletal remains. The dark infrastructure was exposed, reaching out like the dried and yearning branches of a dying tree.

Jazz snarled, visor blazing as he faced the medic. "Who did this?"

Ratchet's vents hissed. "That is the thing." His voice was icy cold, tense and strained.

"We do not know."

* * *

**There, chapter one! Hope you liked!**


	2. The Lights of Insanity Three

The world was still.

Dead.

Placid.

Swirling with the various emotions that plagued the soul of one, staining it with the rumbling storm of the various feelings that could overcome:

_Cold._

Tendrils **_creeping,_** icy daggers _**crawling**_ into every available crevice...

_Heat._

Filling the _**soul**_ of one with the burning waves of _**passion**_ and _**pain**_ and _**fury...**_

So the world was still yet moving, a repetitive motion that covered one with the cloak of eternal stillness.

Said stillness was no longer achievable.

The world came crashing back, complete with the overwhelming, near unbearable sense of crowding. His rage grew steadily, a black storm brewing with disbelief and fear and betrayal.

He had the medic in his grasp before he knew it, optics blazing as dentia began to lengthen into fangs. "What do ya mean, ya don' know? How can ya not know, Ratchet? We got detectives here, an' ya..." Jazz paused, visor dimming in simmering fury. "Ya mean ta tell meh tha' our detectives, specially trained by _Prowl himself_, can't figure out who or wha' did this ta 'im? Is is tha' slaggin' hard? Ah mean, it's all jus' fun 'n' games till someone gets hurt, righ'? _**No.**_ Ah need ta speak with 'em. Ah need ta..." Ventilations rasping suddenly, the saboteur swayed slightly as the scent of so much fresh Energon washed over him. A low whine escaped his vocalizer as his control slipped.

Oh, so good. So _good..._

A massive black servo tightened painfully around his neck, and Jazz was yanked back forcefully, armor warping and lashing into sensitive protoform. With an enraged hiss, Jazz struggled to break free from the iron grip.

Ironhide glared down at him, pitch black armor flared and menacing tawny optics blazing. The scowl on his faceplate exposed dentia that were gleaming white and elongated, enough to pose a threat to any easily frightened being.

But Jazz was not one of _them._

"Ah swear ta Primus, Ironhide, if ya don' put meh down _right now _-"

_"Enough."_ The Weapons Specialist snarled, optics narrow, before turning to the medic. "Ya alrigh', Ratch?"

The medic straightened, glaring venomously. The armor around his neck and arms was dented and scraped significantly; any normal mech would have been ineffectively attempting to hold back their cries of pain. But the Doctor, being able to tolerate mere and pathetic (in his eyes, at least) pain, merely forced his clawed digits beneath the refined metal and jerked it back in place with an audible crack and hiss of straightening hydraulics and Energon lines. Jazz felt the slightest pang of guilt plague him; in his ravenous rages he was stronger than normal, and the beast held little regard for the safety of others as long as it acquired the fuel it desired so wantonly.

Blazing dark optics fixed on the restrained Polyhexian. Normally he was not so easily perturbed.

But it was widely known that the piercing stare of the Mad Doctor was one every mech, whether sane or not, better fear or risk becoming his next experiment.

"I am fine, Ironhide." Ratchet's voice was low and calm, another unnerving factor of his moods. "Release him."

The statement, one that was more so of an order, was given so coldly that even the fearless leviathan of a mech immediately followed it.

Jazz stumbled slightly as Ironhide shoved him away, still disoriented from the hunger gnawing at his tanks. The dark Weapons Specialist's engine growled, warning him to stay away.

"Inferno, Red Alert!" The medic's voice tore through the murmurs of the crowd, who _had_ been held back by Wheeljack.

The swordsmech was extremely irritated as of present. He was currently being restrained by a rather large quantity of mechs and femmes; snarling and shaking like a rabid organic animal, the insane mech was attempting to break free and pull out his swords in order to decapitate the nearest unlucky victim. His abnormally bright lime green optics burned with a dark and homicidal light, the embodiment of pure and unadulterated sadistic insanity.

Two mechs appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, in response to the medic's call. The massive frame of the burgundy second-in-command of the Security Division was overwhelming in such a close range; the saboteur hissed lowly and moved back a few steps, but the mech before him did not notice it or did not care.

Red Alert's black armor seemed to make his frame blend into the darkness surrounding him, but his bright crimson accents and biolights blazed almost hellishly. Electricity sparked between his horns, and his long clawed hands flexed as if eager to tear into an unsuspecting body. The disturbing grin that flickered irregularly over his faceplate was enough to make any mech second guess his rationality.

"Yes?" The Head of Security hissed, dark crimson optics burning. The electricity between his horns burned, carving its image into the optics of those idiotic enough to look the energy right in the optic.

"Keep an optic on this crowd." Ratchet moved past them, eyeing the trembling Jazz for an astrosecond. "No one gets in or out except officers and their seconds. Understood?"

Red Alert's glossa ran over his dentia as the electricity between his horns blazed bright. "Absolutely." His armor shifted as he turned to the crowd, moving with an almost snakelike grace.

Ratchet fixed his gaze on his partner. "Ironhide, stay here and watch. If things get too out of hand, you know what to do."

The black mech rumbled. "Righ'. Lock 'n' load." His cannons whirred and hummed, heat swirling around the massive weapons.

Ratchet paid him no heed, instead latching on to Jazz's servo in an iron grip and all but dragging him over to where Wheeljack was being restrained.

"Release him!" the storm-grey mech roared, his deep and powerful voice booming through the crowd. Immediately recognizing the medic's dark mood the massive cluster of mechs and femmes backed away quickly.

Wheeljack's blazing optics were narrow, and his claws were stained with Energon, as well as his extended fangs. "What do you need, Doc?" He spoke in a slightly hoarse, quiet voice, vents heaving as he licked the Energon covering his digits and dentia.

Reopening the encrypted comm., Ratchet spoke in a soft voice. _/You are going to help me find Jazz refuel. He's going to snap any second, and being in this crowd does not help him one bit./_

_/Right./ _Wheeljack hissed at a femme that came too close to him, large wings flaring and armor shifting menacingly. _/Couldn't be happier./_

The black mech approached the trembling Polyhexian, unnerving optics narrow as he leaned down to hiss in the vampire's audio. "Keep your act together. If you snap, Prime will terminate us all."

Jazz shook his helm, clenching his servos into fists; his claws dug into his armor hard enough to slash the protoform beneath. "Do Ah _look_ like Ah care 'bout the Prime right now?" he spat viciously, dentia bared. The brutality of the tremors increased, enough to make Jazz's entire frame rattle. Wheeljack flared his powerful wings as the smaller mech came closer, a disturbing grin appearing on his faceplate as he continued to address the swordsmech.

"What Ah'm focused on righ' now is why ya smell so _good."_

Suddenly the silver mech had the larger pinned to the ground. His dentia extended as he leaned close, savoring the scent of fresh Energon so close and in his grasp. Claws tearing into Wheeljack's sleek armor, Jazz groaned as his dentia sank into the restrained mech's neck cabling, immediately drawing out the hot, fresh, _delicious _Energon. His frame trembled in ecstasy as the sweet liquid coated his glossa, filling his tanks to the brim...oh so delightful...yes, just let it take over... _let **me **take over...no harm, no harm...only **food **...marvelous, marvelous **food...**__  
_

_Yes, delectable Energon. Oh, how we have yearned for this...sweet, delicious Energon...lovely, lovely..._

_Sweet, sweet Energon...oh, how I have waited so patiently. But you do not answer my call...my polite call...no, I must be mean...you do not like it, neither do I...but you do not come when I call you, my precious..._

Vertigo washed over Jazz, and his vents hitched as the world lurched around him. Heat overwhelmed him, his internal fans desperately and futilely attempting to break the searing heat's wrathful hold. No, no, no. What was happening? Oh, my delicious prey...do not leave...please...

Darkness seeped into his vision when he finally realized what had happened. Oh, the mortals had tricked him...tricked, tricked, tricked...yes, they did...how?

The mech...the black swordsmech...yes, that was how. He had poisonous Energon, specifically designed to keep beings like him away..and oh _yes _it worked...

* * *

Ratchet watched with growing irritation as Jazz's visor flickered and offlined. Nearby, Wheeljack snarled and stood, armor flaring and relaxing over and over as the wound on his neck healed over in a nanosecond.

"Why did you do that?" the medic demanded, narrowing his dark optics at the feared warrior. "I could have just sedated him."

The black mech hissed, optics burning, as his claws flexed. He rolled his neck, tendons and joints cracking as they slid back into place. "I was becoming tired of his complaints about how much Energon there was...the little glitch kept thinking it. Over and over and over and over." Wings flaring suddenly, Wheeljack's lime optics blazed with unrestrained insanity and fury as they fixed onto the medic. "When will I be able to terminate him?"

Ratchet vented. "Wheeljack..."

The other whined softly, fangs bared in a pleading grimace. "Just a _little,_ Ratchet? I really want his servo...it would make such a _nice_ pet trophy..."

_"Enough!"_ The thunderstorm-colored mech flared his armor in unveiled and primal aggression. "If you want to find a new pet trophy, take one of the others, but _not _Jazz. Find some other way to sate your sadistic curiosity."

Wheeljack hissed and moved a few steps back, dentia glinting. "Why?" Suddenly he was behind the medic, crooning in a deep and soft voice. "You care for no one. Do you have something going on?"

Fury finally snapping, the medic's servo shot out as it latched itself dangerously tight around the assassin's throat, claws digging into the armor. His hand slowly tightened, cutting off Wheeljack's ventilations.

"When I say enough," Ratchet growled, optics burning with pure and unadulterated, primal fury, "I mean enough. Approach me with this again and I will _tear you apart and feed you to Jazz_. Understood?"

Wheeljack nodded, grinning disturbingly as he was released. "You have become crueler, Doc. Nice to see that you are not attaching yourself to anyone."

Ratchet ignored the mech, facing the two unconscious mechs at their pedes. "Take Prowl and I will carry Jazz. We have to get their priorities straightened out."

The swordsmech growled viciously, wings twitching as he leaned down to pick up the broken and bloodied frame of their SIC.

Ratchet vented once more as he took in the infatuated crowd and the roaring Ironhide, Red Alert, and Inferno.

_Primus, please help me cope with these complete and utter idiots._

* * *

**There you have it! Chapter two! **

**I wanted to put in more insane Jazz and Wheeljack (wanting a servo for a pet and all), but then it would have taken forever to finish this. **

**Hope you liked! Questions/concerns/suggestions, PM or leave it in a review!**

**Oh, wait, Author's Note: I am thinking of making a flashback explaining how Prowl was injured so terribly. This will be VERY gory and graphic, so if you are easily nauseated and/or have a weak spot for cold and emotionless Praxian tacticians, look out for the warnings at the beginning of the chapter _because that is the only time I will mention it and if you fail to read the Author Notes than the blame is on you if you puke your guts out or go cry in the corner like a baby._**

**Ah, well. Those of you not like that enjoy it when it comes! :)**

**Bye! **


	3. A Grim Encounter

**Here is Chapter Three! I apologize for the _really _long wait!**

**I forgot to mention this before: this story is set in a Shattered Glass universe, centered around the Autobots only. (One would think it pretty obvious anyways). The Decepticons will not be in this story. Perhaps in the sequel, unless I change my mind.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Ratchet stalked down the hall. He was moving rather quickly, despite the weight in his servos. Wheeljack prowled behind him, his wings twitching and displaying his constantly battling emotions, an everlasting storm.

"Doc." The swordsmech hissed suddenly, armor flared as he gradually came to a stop.

"What did I say earlier, Wheeljack?" The medic continued to walk, not stopping for the larger mech. "I am not letting you terminate your teammates!"

_"Ratchet!" _

The assassin actually seemed... _frightened?_

"What?" Ratchet whipped around as much and as fast as he dared with the limp frame cradled in his servos. He froze at what he saw.

Wheeljack was being restrained by a massive black servo, its claws digging into his armor hard enough to draw Energon, as his wings flared high and fanned the air in irregular movements as they batted against his restrainer's servo. An enormous and lean frame loomed behind the jet black swordsmech, and the two blazing crimson optics of his restrainer were filled with pure and unadulterated fury that burned into the medic.

A deep and rumbling gravelly voice thundered throughout the room, shaking through the medic. It seemed to shake the base looming above them to its very foundations.

_"Explain."_

"Lord Prime." The medic immediately bowed as much as the body in his servos allowed him. "We were on our way to the medical bay. Officers Prowl and Jazz are both severely injured."

The dark crimson glare lingered on the Mad Doctor for the briefest of moments before taking in the battered frame of his appointed second in command and the seemingly undamaged one of his third.

"He has no significant damage." The Prime took a few thundering steps towards the CMO, narrowing his optics as they flickered over to the chassis of his third. A deep and threatening rumble came from his massive engine.

"My lord, his...condition...has worsened." He shifted as the unconscious Polyhexian stirred blindly, his engine rumbling and ventilation mechanisms hitching. After the tense and rather uncomfortable silence, the dark medic continued, aware of the fact that the Prime's mood was rapidly darkening. "It was best to put him into stasis." Ratchet lowered his gaze submissively to the massive chest of his ruler.

"Have I not told you to keep him _under control?"_ the Autobot Commander growled, leaning forward as his massive engine rumbled with a barely concealed threat. His upper mouthplate curled into a snarl as the medic flattened his armor against his frame.

"You have, my liege. It is only that with such low stocks of lifeblood in storage we cannot properly refuel him." The medic remained still, armor relaxed and tone steady as to not antagonize his lord and master any further than he already was.

"There is no need to give up our resources for a mere _parasite."_ The mammoth black mech rumbled threateningly, motioning with a stiff servo to the mech they were currently speaking about. His hellish crimson optics blazed dangerously bright, a grim and terrifying reminder that his rage was steadily growing by each passing nanosecond.

"Master, the mech in question _is_ your third in command." Ratchet drew in a deep yet barely audible vent, as if calming his nerves without the other knowing.

Prime growled deep in his chassis, remaining silent in a way that unnerved the medic. He spoke after a moment of tense silence. "Keep him under control, or you both will be sent to the stockades for the rest of your miserable and insignificant lives."

The medic nodded once, slowly to not rouse the suspicion that he was up to something, even if he was not. "Yes, my Lord."

The Dark Lord remained silent, his sanguinary glare piercing his subordinate. After a long and tense moment of chilling silence, and with one last lethal and pointed look, the feared Leader of the Autobots turned and left.

Wheeljack snarled and shuddered, leaning against the wall as he slid down into a seated position. He twisted his helm to swipe his glossa over the jagged wounds in his shoulder panels. His optics flashed in sadistic pleasure and desire at the taste of his own Energon as he looked over at the medic, noticing that he was keeping his faceplate carefully devoid of anything that would betray his thoughts despite the fact that there were various emotions were battling clearly in his electromagnetic field. "Doc, what's the matter? Ya look like death warmed over...that, or you really want to dissect someone right now."

The dark medic scowled, endless optics flashing in irritation as he glared at the insane swordsmech. "I suggest that you shut your mouth or it'll be welded shut permanently!"

Wheeljack tilted his helm, a dark grin playing on his mouthplates. "Ah, _now_ I see." Suddenly the enormous black mech was looming over the other, bright green optics blazing insanely bright as his engine rumbled in disturbing pleasure. "You cannot stand our leader."

The Mad Doctor stiffened, and in a flash his surgical blades were extended, one pressed against the other's neck cabling and the other resting directly above his spark chamber. His current cargo was seemingly forgotten in his rage. "Wheeljack, do you ever wonder how long it will take for me to carve through your armor enough to make you scream in agonizing pain as I tear your spark out before your very optics?" His dark optics flashed crimson for a brief moment, and his signature disturbing grin appeared on his mouthplates to expose his jagged dentia.

Wheeljack let out a deep and growling laugh, his optics burning even brighter despite the fact that there were lethal weapons so close to vital Energon lines. The sound that came from his vocalizer was filled with unsettling cheerfulness as his wings rose ever so slightly behind him. "Aw, there ain't no sense in denying it. You clearly despise _you know who."_

The Mad Doctor crossed his servos, optics narrowing to slits. "What would make you think so?"

The swordsmech grinned coldly. "It's pretty much obvious." His fangs glinted in the dim lighting as his bright green optics burned with a ravenous and homicidal light. "You are not very good at masking your emotions, Doctor. I can literally _taste _your rage." A hoarse laugh escaped the dark mech, strut-chilling and filled with sadistic amusement. Leaning closer, a long and forked glossa trailed over the medic's faceplate, leaving an acidic and burning trail in its wake. "And it tastes oh so delicious..."

Ratchet scowled, his engine rumbling as he narrowed his optics to dark slits, and he moved back with disgust etched clear on his faceplate. He seemed ready to decapitate the looming black mech, electricity crackling around the edges of his extended blades, before he growled and transformed his servos back to default. "Remind me to make your next psych evaluation very painful."

Wheeljack whined, wings twitching as he shook his helm. "I thought we were done with those, Doc. Ya know I don't like 'em."

"Tell that to our leader." The medic's scowl remained strong and deep as he flared his armor and released a rush of air from his flared vents. "Come on. Jazz and Prowl aren't healing themselves."

The swordsmech made a hoarse sound that was a cross between a hiss and a whine. "Can't we just give them to Percy? I'm sure he'd love to have new subjects."

"I swear to Primus is you don't shut that mouth of yours I'm going to rip it off and give it to Raj." Ratchet glared venomously before turning sharply on his heel and stalking down the hall.

Wheeljack groaned and fixed his acidic glare on the unconscious saboteur in his servos. "You know, you're much more trouble than you're worth. I hope ya know that."

* * *

**Hope you liked! Prowl's "incident" will be described soon! **

**R&amp;R, pleaze!**


End file.
